A Cry in the Thunder
by MyImmortal329
Summary: The first part of what will hopefully be a series. Daryl is only looking for a warm place to sleep and a bottle of cough syrup. What he finds is much more than he bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

A Cry in the Thunder

Chapter 1

Daryl Dixon's fingersD twitched against the butt of his rifle. A cigarette hung limply from between his lips as he peered through the scope. He crouched under his tent as fat droplets of rain hammered down, soaking the soil, creating a slick of mud from him camp to his brother's beat up old truck.

Thunder roared overhead, and he flinched, turning his attention back to the farm house he was currently staking out. There had been a light in the window the night before, but there was no sight of movement coming from inside. Perhaps whoever had been there had simply left a lantern burning. Not likely. The house probably would have gone up in flames. So, he was waiting. This was one of the last standing farm houses in Casper County, and he sure as hell wasn't about to pass it by just yet.

A few of the dead were walking along the fence that bordered the property, but there didn't seem to be any walkers close to the house. It was perfect. All he had to do was wait. If he could take the house, there was a chance the fences could be fortified. He could make some kind of a life in this fucked up world.

A whine from the back of the tent startled him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Merle's yellow lab Brody lift his weary head and lick his snout.

"Whaddya think, Brody?" The dog yawned. "Dunno about you, but I'm sick of this damned rain. Sick of sleepin' on the hard ground." The dog cocked his head before lowering it down to rest upon his paws. "Yeah, you're no help."

Lightning lit up the morning sky, and Daryl tossed his smoldering cigarette butt into the mud outside. He reached for the pocket of the flannel shirt with the cut off sleeves he'd been wearing for the worst part of a week, and he cursed under his breath when he realized his pack was empty. And what was worse, a small tree limb came crashing down, ripping through the top of the tent, letting in the rain, much to Brody's dismay. He growled and cowered under the blanket and looked helplessly at Daryl.

"Alright, let's get the hell outta here," he grumbled. He quickly reached for a damp notepad and scribbled something down before sealing it in a plastic bag and leaving it on the floor of the tent. "C'mon, boy." Brody whimpered but quickly heeded his master's call. Daryl grabbed his rifle and his crossbow and quickly sloshed through the mud, opened the truck door and tossed his things inside. Brody quickly jumped up into the seat, muddy paws and all, and Daryl went back to the tent for his pack.

It took a couple minutes to get the engine to turn over, but once he was finally spinning out of the mud, he wiped his wet hair out of his face and gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand.

"Fuck this. Hope whoever's there likes company."

He gunned the engine and made it the half-mile down the gravel road, and it was only when he got out of the truck to open up the gate that he saw a mini van parked around back. He swallowed hard, an ache burning in the back of his throat, and he made a mental note to check for antibiotics or cough medicine or something. Nothing was worse than trying to fight off a nasty cold when there weren't any doctors or pharmacists or fucking people anymore.

He quickly pulled the truck through and got back out to shut the gate, narrowly avoiding getting his hand bitten by a particularly nasty looking walker.

He cut the engine and scratched Brody behind the ears.

"Wait here, boy." He reached into the glove compartment for the handgun he and Merle had swiped off a corpse on the way out of Atlanta months ago, and he checked the chamber. He had eight bullets left, so he figured he'd better use them wisely.

He grabbed his keys and stuffed them in his pocket before shutting the door and moving swiftly up the path to the porch. He could hear a cry from inside, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the glass of the front window. He could see a small shadow, someone moving across the room, and he heard a crash, followed by a pained cry.

"Hey, I ain't here to hurt nobody," he murmured, tucking his gun into the back of his pants and holding his hands up. "Just lookin' for medicine, for some food. Maybe a place to sleep tonight."

"I got a gun, Mister!" came an urgent voice that he could barely hear over the rain on the tin roof and the thunder rumbling overhead.

"Hey, that's ok. I ain't here to hurt ya."

"My daddy said everybody's here to hurt us," came the quivering voice that he now realized came from a child. A girl.

"Hey. Hey, it's ok." He watched as the lace curtain over the window on the front door peeled back, and he blinked in surprise at the sight of two baby blue eyes looking at him warily. Her chin jutted up boldly, and she pointed the barrel of a shotgun at him.

"I'll shoot, Mister!"

"Hey. It's ok. Hey." Daryl slowly reached behind him and drew his gun. He held it away from him, pointed to the side, and then he tossed it onto the cushion of a porch swing. "M'not gonna hurt ya. I'm Daryl. You wanna tell me your name?"

"S…I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers."

"Are you alone, kid?"

"No. My daddy's sleeping. He's mean, and he's got a gun, and he'll shoot you." He could see the fear in her eyes, and he could hear the strain in her voice, as if she reserved most of her fear for the very man she called her daddy.

"You wanna go wake your daddy up? Send him out here? Just wanna talk to him. Just need some cough medicine."

"Cough medicine?"

"Yeah. See, I got a sore throat, and I just need somethin' for it. I ran all out, and I need a dry place to sit for a minute."

"Oh," she said softly. She looked over her shoulder for a moment, and that was when he heard the pained cry again."

"Hey, kid." The girl looked back up at him.

"I'm Sophia," she said weakly.

"Sophia, where's your daddy?"

"My daddy's dead," Sophia admitted. "He died a long time ago."

"Sophia, is someone hurt?"

"No. Someone's sick," Sophia said softly. "It's my mama, Mister. I think she's dying."

"Did she get bit?" Daryl asked, keeping his voice soft and even, remembering the way the cops spoke to him when they pulled him and Merle out of class to tell them their parents were dead.

"No," she sniffled. "But she's real sick."

"Sophia? How old are you?"

"I'm five," she sniffled.

"Ok, can you…can you put the gun down?"

"You're a stranger."

"But maybe I can take a look at your mama. See if I can help?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, Sophia. I ain't a doctor, but…maybe I can help her. Maybe we can help each other, Sophia. Whaddya say?" Sophia chewed her lip and blinked the tears out of her eyes before finally nodding.

"Ok, but I'm not giving you my gun. I gotta protect my mama, since it's just us left."

"Hey, that's alright. You been trained how to use it?"

"Mama taught me after daddy died. But she says I gotta be careful."

"That's right. You gotta be careful. So you hold it like this, ok?" He mimed with his hands, and Sophia turned the gun to hold it safely. "You got it?"

"Yes sir," she sniffled. And then she reached up and unlocked the door. She hurried off quickly, as the cries from upstairs became louder, more pained. Daryl let himself into the cool, dark house, and he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the dimly lit home. It was then that he saw the little blonde girl crouching on the stairs with the gun safely held in her hands. The screams grew louder, more urgent, and Sophia was trembling on the stairs.

"Sophia, you wait downstairs. You wait, alright? I ain't gonna hurt you or your mama, but I need ya to wait, ok?"

"Promise you won't hurt her?"

"I promise," he said softly. Sophia swallowed hard and stepped off of the stairs, keeping a wide distance, moving as he moved, making certain she didn't let him get too close. When the cries grew louder, more pained, Daryl rushed up, feeling a little sick, wondering what he was about to find. Hell, it could be a trap. He'd fallen into one or two of those in the months since the world ended. But, as he grew closer, he could feel the energy, the pain coming from that room. And when he opened the door, he felt a pull in his gut when he saw the young woman hunched over in the bed with her head bowed and her hands over the curve of her stomach. Her body was shaking, and she was groaning in pain, and the sheets were tinged pink.

"Shit," he murmured. She snapped her head up, eyes wide with fear as her dark, brown curls fell into her sweaty face.

"Sophia!" she cried out.

"She's ok. Hey. She's ok. She's just scared. She's downstairs."

"Sophia!" the woman cried again. "Sophia, you answer your mama!"

"I'm ok, Mama!" Sophia called from downstairs. The woman let out a heavy, shaking breath, and she groaned, gripping her stomach again.

"I can't," she cried. "It's dead. I know it's dead. It's ripping me apart. Oh God!"

"Hey. Hey, it's…oh shit." He ran his fingers through his hair as she fell back against the mattress, breathing hard as she gripped the sheets between her fingers.

"Please tell me you're a doctor. I've been praying for a doctor for days."

"Sorry," he murmured.

"Just as well," she slurred, as her eyes began to roll back. "Don't let my little girl die. No matter what happens to me. Don't let her die. Oh, God!" She arched back then, and Daryl moved toward the bed, crouching at the side. Her hand found his, and she gripped it so hard her knuckles turned white. "If I die, you don't let me turn! You don't let her see me like that."

"I…"

"You'll end it. You will, won't you?" She reached under her pillow, pulling out a sharp blade with a knuckle guard. "Please."

"Ok. I…ok." He swallowed hard, reaching for the knife, and he put it aside, and the woman arched up, baring down, gripping his hand. "Please finish it. Please." She cried out, and Daryl moved, and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and in warp speed at the same time. He felt sick, dizzy, like the world was falling out from under him, and he pushed up her gown as she reached up for her ankles, baring down and pushing hard.

"I…I see a head," he murmured, as if surprised. In this world, new life wasn't even a thought in the back of his mind. It was death, decay, disease.

But the harder she pushed, the faster everything happened, and in minutes, a wriggling, pink little thing lay between her legs on the bed, little legs kicking and hands grasping at air.

"Oh my God," she panted. "Oh God. It's not crying. It's dead. It's dead." She covered her face with her hands. "Do it fast. Please. Please."

"It ain't…it ain't…" He ran his hand through his hair before he reached with shaking hands to pick up the wriggling infant, vaguely recalling every television show he'd ever seen where a baby wasn't crying when it was born. He gently tapped it on the back with the heel of his hand, and in moments, a cry pierced the air, and the woman's eyes flew open as Daryl reached for the closest thing, a soft, white sweater, to wrap the baby in.

"Oh my God," she whimpered. "Oh my God." Daryl glanced up at her, eyes wide as his arms trembled with this new life wrapped in them. "It's ok?"

"It's ok," he panted, as his heart slowly began to return to its normal rate. "It's…it's a boy."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Daryl used the knife that the woman had given him to sever the umbilical cord, and he handed the baby over to his mother. The woman had then asked him to leave the room, presumably so she could clean herself up, and he quickly obliged, shutting the door to give her some privacy.

The first thing he did was raid the bathroom, washing his hands and face before chugging down a couple tablespoons of cough syrup. He could hear the baby fussing, and by the time he walked out of the bathroom, Sophia was sitting on the top stair step with wide eyes.

"You ok, kid?"

"What happened to my mom? Is she ok?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Daryl promised. "Looks like you got yourself a brother." Sophia's jaw dropped slightly.

" _Oh_." She looked away and then up at him expectantly.

"What's the matter?"

"Daryl, I'm hungry. Mama's been so sick. I ran out of my animal crackers."

"Oh," Daryl murmured, clearing his throat as a hot wave of recognition lumped in his throat. He remembered the god awful ketchup sandwiches Merle used to make him when he was little and their parents slept in 'til the late hours of the afternoon. "I reckon your mama's probably pretty hungry, too. You got food somewhere?"

"Uh-huh. There's a whole room full of food. Mama and my daddy put all kinds of food in there when the monsters came. But the lights went out yesterday, and the microwave won't work."

"The lights? You mean you had electricity?"

"Uh-huh. Mama would take the gas can out back sometimes." _A generator._

"You sit here, alright, kid? Just sit tight." The little girl nodded, and she moved to sit on a bench next to the bathroom door.

Daryl quickly headed outside and grabbed his things from the truck. He reached under the seat for Brody's leash and clipped it to his collar.

"C'mon, boy. Think we got a place to stay for a couple days." He glanced briefly back up into the hill where his tent was now probably half-submerged in a mud pit before letting the dog out and walking him back up to the house. Once inside, he let Brody off the leash. "Sit. Stay. Good boy." Then he headed back out, grabbed a half-full gas can out of the back of the truck and went around the house to search for the generator. It didn't take very long, and aside from water from the rain, the generator was dry as a bone. He quickly poured in what fuel he had in the can and got the generator up and running again.

When he returned to the house, he could hear children's music floating through the living room, and Sophia was sitting on the bottom of the stairs scratching Brody's head.

"I like dogs," she said with a smile. "She's nice."

"She's a boy," Daryl said with an amused chuckle. "Name's Brody."

"Hi, Brody. I'm Sophia," the girl said, grinning and showing that her two front teeth were missing. Brody licked her hand, and Daryl moved to turn the music off. At Sophia's downtrodden glance, Daryl gave her a little nod. "Gotta save all the energy we can."

The pantry was fully stocked as Sophia said it would be, and when Daryl grabbed for a few cans of stew, he heard footsteps shuffling behind him, followed by the click of Brody's nails on the linoleum floor. Daryl turned to find Sophia staring up at him expectantly.

"I like s'ghetti rings."

"S'ghetti rings, huh?"

"Uh-huh."

"Alright. Think I saw a few of those in here. Sounds ok to me."

Daryl gently tapped on the door as he balanced a bowl of s'ghetti rings in one hand. He heard the baby fuss, and then he heard her soft voice call out.

"You can come in." He cracked the door open to find her sitting on the edge of her stripped-down bed with the baby in her arms. He was wrapped in a soft, yellow baby blanket, and he was sucking at his own fingers.

"Brought you somethin' to eat. Thought you'd be hungry."

"Thank you," she said softly, motioning for him to put the bowl down on the bedside table. "You got the generator working. Thank you for that."

"This your house?"

"This? It is now. I call it home, anyway," she said quietly. "We spent the first few months living in an old airstream trailer hitched to the back of our mini-van. A group of people stole it from us at gunpoint one night, and we slept in the van for about a month after that. A few nights after we found this place, my husband was bitten. I buried him in the back yard, just by the fence." She nodded toward the window, and Daryl moved over to peer out. He spotted a large mound of dirt that seemed to be sprouting weeds.

"Sorry," he said quietly. The woman shifted on the bed, sucking in a sharp breath at the pain that spread through her. "You ok?"

"I'm fine. Sophia…oh God, she must have been so scared. I've been so…so out of it." He could hear the tremble in her voice and see the fear in her eyes, and he took a step toward her, uncertain of why but suddenly feeling the need to comfort this woman.

"She's downstairs. She's fine, but I think she might've stole my dog."

"Oh, Sophia loves dogs," she said tiredly. "Ed would never let her have one." She cleared her throat. "I'm Carol, by the way. Peletier."

"Daryl Dixon," he replied with a nod.

"Well, Daryl Dixon, I guess you're the answer to my prayers." He narrowed his eyes at her and balked.

"Believe me, lady, I ain't no answered prayer," he bit out. "Just in the right place at the right time."

"Well, whatever you are, _whoever_ you are, thank you for being so kind. Sophia's…she's probably hungry."

"We ate," he assured her. "And I took some of your cold medicine."

"That's ok," she offered. "You're welcome to stay for a few days, warm up, dry off. It's the least I could offer. If you hadn't been here…"

"I didn't do nothin'. You did all the work yourself." He cleared his throat. "Look, I been stakin' this place out, to be honest. Didn't know exactly who was stayin' here, but I planned on…and well, look, I'll be movin' on. You and your kids are gonna need a safe place, and…"

"The road's going to be washed out," Carol said softly, standing slowly. "So you might have to wait a few days." She cleared her throat. "Can you…can you open that closet for me?" Daryl eyed her before moving toward the door. When he opened it up, he saw a white bassinet inside. "I found it the day we moved in." Daryl rolled the bed out, and Carol gently placed the little one inside.

"You need anything? For him? For you?"

"No," Carol said softly. "I stocked up. I've got everything packed in the van in case we need to make a quick escape, but I've got what I need to last me through the night. Um, could you send my little girl up? I want to see that she's ok for myself."

"Sure," Daryl said quietly. "Look, um, I won't be no bother. I'll sleep down on the couch. Truth is, I'm waitin' on my brother. We ran outta food a few nights ago, and Merle took off huntin' in the middle of the night. He'll be back, but I left a note at our old camp, told him where to come."

"Oh," Carol said with a nod.

"Hell, I'll sleep in my truck, but…"

"No, you don't have to do that. You…there's plenty of room here. Besides, the weather's turning cold, and we're far enough to the north that we could get hit pretty hard this winter. You can wait for your brother here."

"Thank you," Daryl said with a short grunt. He cleared his throat and glanced briefly at the baby in the bassinet. He turned to leave, and Carol stepped toward him.

"Daryl? Um, you can have that cough syrup. I have more stored in the van. You're welcome to it and another bottle if you need it."

"Appreciate that," he said with a nod. With that, he was gone, and Carol turned, shivering as she tightened her bathrobe belt around her middle. She groaned in pain as she bent over to pick up the soiled sheets from the floor. She knew she should be resting and saving her strength, but she also knew the bed wasn't going to change itself, and she'd done harder work with broken ribs before. If she could survive that, she could survive this.

The baby fussed as he sucked at his fingers, and Carol made slow but steady work of putting crisp, fresh, white sheets on the mattress. By the time she had the bed changed, the baby had fallen asleep, and Sophia was peeking in the door. Carol's face brightened when she saw her little girl's face.

"Hi mama," Sophia said uncertainly, biting her lower lip as she eyed her mother.

"Hi, baby," Carol cooed. "Come here, sweetie. I'm sorry I scared you." Sophia let her guard down and hurried over to give her mother a hug around the middle.

"You're ok, mama?"

"I'm ok, baby," she promised. "You have a baby brother."

"Daryl told me," Sophia replied, letting go of her mother and walking over to the bassinet to peek inside. "He's tiny." Carol's brow creased in concern, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. He was tiny. Much smaller than Sophia had been at birth. But food had been rationed, and she'd honestly expected to lose the baby months ago. She'd gone through the motions of planning for the baby and the birth, but somewhere in the back of her mind had always been a lingering doubt that she would be dead before she ever saw her baby's face and that Sophia would be all alone in a world full of monsters.

"Well, you were tiny once, too."

"I was?"

"Sure you were." Carol gave her daughter a gentle pat on the shoulder. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. He's awful cute," Sophia offered.

"Yeah, he is," Carol chuckled. "He looks like you."

"No he doesn't, mama. He's bald!" Sophia laughed.

"Oh, my mistake!" Carol grinned. "Did you have enough to eat?"

"Yes, mama."

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes, mama."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes, mama."

"Oh, you silly girl. Go brush your teeth and say your prayers, and I want you to try to take a nap, ok?"

"Mama, can Brody sleep in my bed?"

"Brody?"

"Daryl's dog. He's really a good dog, mama."

"Well, you'll have to ask Daryl that," Carol replied with a shrug, walking her daughter to the door. The second Sophia was gone, she felt a wave of dizziness and a flash of warmth spreading through her veins. She stumbled but held onto the door to gain her balance. She swallowed back the urge to vomit, and she pressed her forehead against the cool oak surface of the bedroom door.

She let the patter of her daughter's feet on the stairs be her focus, and she took a several deep breaths until the hot, sick feeling passed. Finally, she turned and made a quick pass by the bassinet to check on her son, and then she climbed into bed, closed her eyes and prayed she'd feel better when she woke up.

...

Daryl took a big swig of water after washing down his second dose of cough medicine. He felt a little better already, but he knew it would be a day or two before he was feeling a hundred percent again.

The house was quiet. Sophia had gone down for a nap, and Carol probably had, too, and the storm was raging on outside, flooding the yard and the side field. He could already see what she meant about the road being washed out, as there was a good four or five inches of water standing out there already, probably overflow from the river he and Merle had fished out of every morning for breakfast.

He groaned, stuffing one last handful of potato chips into his mouth before he tossed the bag into the wastebasket.

The old farmhouse floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked through the house and into the kitchen, checking out the back yard for signs of flooding. The back wasn't so bad, but he could see a few walkers clinging to the fence, reaching toward the house In desperate attempts to get to the living.

He shut the curtains and started for the front of the house, startling when he heard the baby cry upstairs. When he turned to grab for another bottle of water from the case, he heard what sounded like footsteps upstairs. And then he heard a sickening, heavy thud, and then nothing but the babies hungry cries. The next thing he heard was Sophia's wails piercing the air.

"Mama! Mama wake up! Please, mama!"

He took the stairs two at a time, rushing in to find Sophia crouched over her mother's fallen body. Carol lay on her side, hair splayed out over her face as she lay still. Breathing, but still.

"Hey," he murmured, gently patting her cheek. "Carol? Can you hear me?" Her forehead was hot, and she was dripping with sweat. "Jesus. Carol? Carol!" Sophia began to cry, and Daryl gently pulled her back away from her mother before lifting Carol up into his arms. He was taken aback at how small she really was, how little she seemed to weight, even limp in his arms. He swallowed the lump in his throat and carried her over to the bed, gently laying her back against the mattress and wiping her hair out of her face. "C'mon, wake up." She moaned softly in her sleep, and Daryl ran his hand through his hair, desperately trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

She had a fever. She'd seemed fine earlier considering she'd given birth without medical assistance in an old farm house in the middle of the end of the world. Maybe it was an infection, something left over from the birth? Infection. Antibiotics.

"Don't let my mama die," Sophia begged from close by.

"Sophia, I want ya to go back and find Brody and give him a big hug, ok? He's the best dog to hug when you're scared, ok?"

"Ok," she sniffled. "But help her."

"I'm gonna do the best I can, ok?" She nodded, eyes wide and tear-filled. Daryl tore off toward the bathroom, flipping on the light and digging through the medicine cabinet, looking for prescription pill bottles. There were a few that weren't outdated, and Daryl racked his brain trying to think back to all those times Merle was on antibiotics for the clap or whatever the hell else he'd pick up from some one night stand.

When he found one that ended in 'cilin' he snatched it up and hurried back to Carol's room.

"Can ya open your eyes for me?" She made a soft hum in her sleep, and her mouth twitched into a frown. Daryl gently lifted her head back and popped a pill between her lips before holding a glass of water up for her. "C'mon, you gotta help me out here. You got a couple kids that need ya, and I gotta be honest, I don't know what the hell I'm doin'. So you don't wanna give up and leave 'em with me, 'cause that's just not gonna work. C'mon, Carol. Drink it." He poured a little bit into her mouth, and she swallowed down the pill just before she choked, and Daryl sat her up a little more. "Good. That's good. You got it." He gave her an extra sip before laying her back down against her pillow. He sat back then, watching her as she fought against her feverish sleep while her newborn son's cries echoed through his heart.

...

The rain had finally stopped for the time being, but the air was turning colder. Daryl was aware that it was October, probably mid-October from what he could tell from the lengths of the days and nights. So he knew that snow would be coming in the next month or two, and an old farm house like Carol's was going to be cold and drafty, and he already felt a chill just thinking about it.

He could hear the baby's cries from inside, and the walkers at the fence were getting feisty. He thought about going over and putting a bolt through their brains, but the baby was still crying, and Caro was still out. He'd found a few baby bottles packed in a bag downstairs, and the only thing he could hope for was that she had some powdered formula stashed in the van somewhere.

He brought the baby downstairs and lay him down on the couch with pillows around him before emptying out what he hoped was Carol's purse and finding a set of keys inside. He grabbed for them and hurried outside, quickly getting the van unlocked and rummaging through boxes full of food and supplies and medicines until he found a box with cans of formula. He quickly grabbed one and headed into the house.

It wasn't rocket science, so he had a bottle made up pretty quickly, and by the time he got back to the baby, the little guy's face was so red he worried he might have hurt himself crying so hard. But the second he had the baby safely in his arms and the bottle at his lips, the little one began to eat, grunting and closing his eyes as the formula filled his belly.

Daryl sighed heavily, slumping down onto the couch and gently rocking the baby as he fed him.

"You like that, little guy?" he asked, as the baby blinked once at him before closing his eyes again. "Yeah. That's alright. I know what it's like to be hungry. It ain't fun. You eat up. That way when your mama wakes up, I can tell her ya eat like a champ."

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and yawning before he looked down at the baby again and wondered how the hell he'd started his day waking up cold in a tent with nobody but his dog and ended up in the warmth of a farmhouse with a scared mom and her two kids, and how she'd looked at him with such gratitude, something so unfamiliar to him.

The baby coughed, and Daryl lifted his head a little to help him eat better, and then he went back to sucking down the remaining ounce in the bottle, leaving Daryl staring in wonder at this little fighter, and the second those little fingers wrapped around his thumb, he didn't know it yet, but his life would never be the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Carol had never felt so cold in her life. She kept clutching at the blanket, pulling it over her shoulders, struggling to keep warm as she shivered in the bed. She could hear the sound of footsteps outside and the occasional cry from her newborn son, and as hard as she tried to muster up the strength to fully wake and go to him, she kept getting pulled back under. Every limb felt heavy and sore, and she wondered if maybe the virus had found her anyway. Maybe she was slowly dying. Maybe, she thought, she should put herself out of her misery and protect her children while she had a chance.

The knife glistened on her bedside table, but she ached too much to even attempt to reach for it.

The pounding in her head had been little more than an afterthought to the rest of the pain she was feeling, but now it was bubbling to the surface, adamantly grinding against her skull. She was aware that she was ill, that her children were in the care of a stranger, that she was very possibly dying and leaving them all alone. But the pain pulled her under, prevented her from moving, from crying out. She was paralyzed of action, body covered in sweat as she shivered under the hand-crafted quilt Daryl had put over her at some point.

The room was dark, she noticed, and a brief glance at the window told her that it was now night. How long she'd been out, she didn't know, but judging from the purposely stifled movements from downstairs, she figured it had been quite a while and Sophia had probably been up from her nap for hours.

Footsteps creaked on the stairs, giving way to the memory of thundering steps, angry pounding against the wall, the low, inhuman growl under a raspy breath when Ed came home work pissed off about work or the weather or whatever excuse he used to beat her.

She could feel his hand over her mouth, pinning her down to the bead, face close to hers.

 _"Quiet or she'll hear_ ," he'd whisper, before putting his hands around her throat and threatening to choke the life out of her. _"Take your medicine like a good girl."_ She could remember the way her head throbbed after he'd slammed her head against the wall, the way her bones had felt like splinters after he'd used his belt on her.

The thundering grew louder in her head, and she jumped when the bedroom door opened. She blinked into the halo of light that silhouetted him, and for a moment, Ed was standing there, looking down at her like something he'd brushed off of the bottom of his shoe.

"You can't have them. They're mine," she murmured weakly. "You can't have the children, Ed." But then he stepped closer, stepped against the bed, hand gentle against her face as he moved to lift her head.

"You gotta take this," he murmured softly. "Your fever's comin' down, but ya gotta take this." She blinked a few times, and his face was different. He was Daryl, this man who had shown up out of nowhere and had taken care of her and her children without asking for so much as some cough syrup in return.

He put his hands against her mouth, not to clasp over to quiet her but to help her swallow a bitter pill. Then she felt the cool water against her lips, and she closed her eyes, letting too cool liquid soothe her.

"You gotta do it," she whispered hoarsely.

"Shh," he murmured. "Gotta keep your strength up."

"You have to," she pleaded, blinking up at him, tears filling her eyes. Her hand moved weakly up to his face, and she could feel the stubble there, and she could feel the warmth of his own skin warming hers. "You can't let me hurt them. I'm supposed to…to protect them." Her head fell back, and he gently lay her against the pillow.

"C'mon. You can't give up yet. You still gotta name that boy of yours."

"His name," she murmured. "His name..." And then she was pulled under again, and Daryl quietly slipped across the hall to the bathroom to grab a cloth and run it under the cold water. He wrung it out and brought it back to her, gently wiping it over her forehead, cooling her heated skin.

He watched her, watched the way she flinched at the touch. She'd been afraid when he'd come to her, afraid for her children, imagining he was her dead husband come to take her children. And it brought him back to that moment he saw Sophia peering out the front door with a shotgun in her hand. He wondered how much that innocent child had seen in her short life, how much she'd been let to see.

And suddenly he thought back to being that five-year-old boy cowering in his brother's closet, hugging a baby sister that never made it past six months. Crib death they'd called it. But he'd never believed that. Not with the way his father had hurt his mother all through the pregnancy and how even after Sarah had come along, he'd distanced himself, stayed out drinking longer, come home angrier. Not with the way the baby never seemed to do anything more than cry. And she had always been so tiny.

He remembered holding her, kissing her soft head, telling her that he could be a good big brother like Merle and protect her. And then he'd come home from school one day to find his mother sobbing in the empty nursery, and his father hadn't come home for days.

The numbness of his scars still gave way to burning memories from time to time. Years he couldn't get back. Years he hated to look back on.

"Is he ok?" Daryl snapped from his thoughts to see her move again, to see her hand reach out toward him. "My baby. Is he ok?"

"He's ok," Daryl promised.

"Ed didn't want him. He tried to…" Her words were slow, slurred, uttered in the heat of fever, and Daryl wiped the cool cloth over her face again.

"Ed's gone," Daryl offered. "You're safe. He ain't gonna hurt you anymore."

...

"Is my mom going to die?" Daryl glanced over his shoulder to see Sophia standing in the doorway of the front porch with Brody standing right beside her.

"What?"

"She's really sick."

"Yeah, she is," Daryl said quietly. "But that don't mean she's gonna die."

"But she could." The girl wasn't looking at him, hoping for him to promise her miracles. She wanted the truth, he realized, and he cleared his throat.

"Yeah, she could," he explained.

"My dad died. But he got bit by a monster, and then mama put a knife in his head. She didn't think I saw, because I was supposed to be sleeping. But I saw. I saw lots of things." She looked down and hugged Brody around the neck. "Do you have any kids?"

"Me? No," Daryl replied quietly, eyeing the child.

"Well, why not?"

"Don't know, really," Daryl replied, scuffing his boot against the porch step. "My brother did, though. Had a little girl named Anna. She was about your age."

"What happened to her?"

"She's gone," Daryl replied quietly, clearing his throat.

"Like my dad," Sophia said quietly.

"Yeah."

"Daryl?"

"What?"

"What will happen to me and my brother if my mama dies?" He looked into those bright blue eyes that were now glimmering with barely contained tears.

"Hey, don't think about that," Daryl said sternly. "You don't need to think 'bout that." Sophia sighed, and her shoulders slumped, and she turned to walk back into the house. And for a moment, Daryl could remember all the words the social workers had said to him and to Daryl about how everything was going to be ok and to not think about the bad things. They couldn't make those kinds of promises, but they did, and things _had_ gotten better. It certainly couldn't have gotten worse. "Sophia." Sophia turned then, and he could see the tears streaking down her cheeks as her lower lip quivered. "Hey. If anything happens to your mama, I'll make sure you're taken care of, ok?"

"You promise?"

His gut tightened, and for a brief moment, he could hear Anna's sweet laugh and see her toothy grin as he chased her around the yard. Being an uncle had been the best thing he'd ever experienced.

"I promise. You go back in, ok? Check on your brother for me."

"Yes, sir," she sniffled, before heading back into the house. Daryl sighed and turned back to look out toward the road.

"C'mon, Merle. Where the hell are you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

By some miracle, the baby had gone to sleep after a bottle and a diaper change, and Daryl had put him down in the bassinet before taking Brody outside one more time. It was dark, and Daryl could hear the distant snarls of walkers along the fence, and he knew that it wouldn't be long before more came sniffing around. So as Brody did his business, Daryl took a knife out to the fence and put down each walker he could find, putting the blade right between the eyes and cringing at the scrape of steel against bone.

When he finally cleaned his knife off and headed back up to the house, Brody was waiting on the porch.

"Good boy," Daryl uttered, grabbing a handful of dog food out of a plastic bag in the back of the truck. Brody ate it up quickly. "Easy, boy. That's all you get 'til tomorrow. Gotta ration like us. Gonna have to hunt like us, too." Brody barked once in protest but quickly licked his chops and finished the small pile of food.

Daryl glanced back toward the road and then up toward the hills, looking for any glimpse of life, any light that might come from one of Merle's flashlights or a campfire. Nothing. It was dark and still, and Daryl felt his stomach coil into knots. His brother had never been gone this long before. Not after the world ended, anyway. But Merle could take care of himself. If there was anything the Dixon brothers could do, they could certainly take care of themselves.

The air was cooling faster than Daryl liked, and he shivered as the porch steps creaked under his feet, reminding him of what waited for him inside. Nobody had ever depended on him before. After Merle had met Andrea, he'd rarely seen his brother except for after Anna was born, and he'd be over there every weekend. Seeing his brother as a family man had been like watching an alien abduction or something. There had been something about Andrea, something that made Merle want to be a better man. And when that little girl had been born, it was like a switch in him flicked on permanently. Something about being a married man and a father had convinced Merle to clean himself up from his drinking, and he'd been a different man altogether.

And he would never forget the words Merle had uttered to him after they'd finally put Anna and Andrea to rest, shoveling the last bits of dirt back over their graves.

 _"It's just us now, baby brother. And it's gonna stay that way. People make us weak. We gotta do for ourselves now."_

He knew it'd just been the grief talking. Andrea and Anna had been Merle's life. But he also understood Merle's point. The last thing he needed in this world was a couple of kids and a sick woman depending on him, yet the second he'd looked into Sophia's deep blue eyes and seen such fear and pain, he couldn't turn away. The second he'd seen Carol's beautiful face, heard the desperation and the pain in her voice, there was no turning back.

He wasn't sure what it was about her. Was it her courage of bringing another life into this dying world? Was it the strength she'd had to put down her own husband and help her daughter survive in this world? Was it the fact that he could sense that in some way she was a survivor too, fighting against impossible odds in this dark new world?

She was certainly beautiful, all dark curls and bright blue eyes. And before the fever hit her, he'd seen this strong woman, this woman determined to do whatever it took to survive, even knowing that if it came down to it, she would have to die so her children could live.

As he thought of her, of the way she'd begged him to end it when she thought the baby was dead, he remembered it was time to give her another dose of antibiotics. So, he quickly locked up the house and checked on the baby before washing up in the kitchen sink. He grabbed a fresh bottle of water and the bottle of pills and headed up the stairs.

He found her sitting up in bed, head in her hands, and he stood in the doorway watching her.

"You ok?" he asked.

"My head is pounding," she groaned. "What happened?"

"You were down with a fever," he said quietly, making his way across the room toward her bed. He handed her the bottle of water, and she squinted up at him in the darkness as the piercing light from the hallway invaded the room and made her eyes burn.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely. "How are they?"

"They're fine. Sophia's sleepin', and so is the baby. He's had a few bottles today. He's fine."

"Thank you," she whispered. "You could have left us. You could have kept going." He shook his head, sitting down on the chair next to her bed.

"No. I couldn't." He opened up the pill bottle and handed her one.

"What is it?"

"Antibiotics I found in the medicine cabinet. I been givin' 'em to ya off and on today." He reached forward, pausing midway at the look of confusion on Carol's face. Then he moved forward again, pressing his palm against her forehead. "Fever's breakin'. That's good. But ya probably better keep takin' these just in case." Carol nodded and took the pill, swallowing it down with a few big gulps of water.

"Thank you, Daryl," she said softly. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be…I owe you my life."

"No you don't," he said with a shake of his head. "It's what people do." He cleared his throat. "Sophia's still afraid. She's been through a lot."

"She's seen too much. Things a child shouldn't see." She looked down. "I tried to protect her from it. From the monsters outside. From the monster living in our home. Tried to hide the bruises."

"When somebody loves ya, they can see the bruises even when ya hide 'em," he said quietly. "You, uh, you were talkin' about him in your sleep. Ed." He turned on the bedside lamp, and she squinted, covering her eyes. "M'sorry." He quickly flicked the lighted off.

"It's ok," she murmured. "Did she talk to you about him? About her dad?"

"Not really," Daryl said quietly. "Think she's tryin' to forget him. Thing I learned a long time ago is that no matter how hard ya try to forget, sometimes rememberin' is what gets you through. Helps ya heal."

"He never touched her. Never. But she saw how angry he was about me getting pregnant again. She walked in one night when he was slapping me around. I've never seen anyone so heartbroken." She sniffled and shook her head. "I think it's part of what's gotten me through this. The world is full of monsters, but I lived with one for six years."

She handed Daryl the bottle of water and lay back against her pillow.

"I, uh, took care of some walkers that were startin' to gather at the fence. I'll go out first thing tomorrow and see if there's anymore." He placed the bottle of water on her nightstand. "I'll come back in a few hours and check on ya."

"You don't have to do that. I'm feeling better."

"I'll be back," he assured her. "I ain't gonna be the one left to tell that little girl her mama got worse on account of me." He heard her sigh in resignation, and he started for the door. Before he walked out, however, he turned. "What's his name?"

"Hmm?"

"I been feedin' and changin' his diapers all day. What do I call the kid?"

"Oh," Carol chuckled. "I, um, I haven't really named him yet. I've thought of names, but…I just haven't settled on one."

"Alright," Daryl said with a nod. "Get some rest." He shut her bedroom door and started down the stairs only to find the baby wriggling about in his bed, face red as he began to cry. "C'mon, kid. You're killin' me here. You're dry, you're clean, you just ate less than an hour ago. Whaddya want from me?" The baby continued to fuss, and Daryl sighed, gently picking him up and holding him close, being careful of his head as he walked across the room to sit in a recliner. "What am I gonna call you 'til your mama settles on a name?"

The baby grunted in response and continued to cry, and Daryl sighed, shifting the baby so he lay on his chest. He kept one hand behind the baby's head and the other at his bottom, and he gently patted him, rocking slowly like he remembered doing many nights when he'd been there to help out when Andrea and Merle had been dead tired after Anna's birth.

"You're gonna have to help me out here, kid. I'm a little rusty at this. You think you can go easy on me 'til your mama's on her own two feet again?" The baby grunted and began to fuss again, and Daryl sighed, checking the baby's diaper. Sure enough, he was soaking wet from back to front. "Again? C'mon, kid. Guess I'm gonna have to call you Squirt."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _Look at this shit. Playin' happy family like these were your own kids. You know they ain't, right? They're liabilities. They're gonna get you killed if they don't get killed first._

Daryl stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, staring into his own eyes, remembering that last shovelful of dirt he put over Anna's grave, remembering the way he carried her lifeless body back from the creek as Merle held Andrea close and sobbed over her body.

He bowed his head, remembering Merle shutting down, unable to speak for hours after. He remembered Anna's eyes flickering open, lifeless as an inhuman noise escape her throat. It had been him. It had been his hand that put that knife through her skull, and a part of him couldn't forgive Merle for not being able to do what needed to be done for his own daughter. At the same time, he got it. How could a man say goodbye to his own flesh and blood? Flesh and blood he'd helped bring into the world?

He felt sick then, head pounding as the water dripped from his hair and onto his bare chest, trailing patterns like the scars on his back. He leaned over the sink, splashing some water from the tap up onto his face before he straightened and ran his fingers through his hair again. He started to reach to unbind the towel from his waist when the latch in the door clicked. He didn't have time to react when Carol paused in the doorway, eyes wide as she got a full view of his back, scars, demons and all.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Christ, can't ya fuckin' knock?" he bit out, turning toward her, chest heaving as his nostrils flared. She jumped then, and he saw a fear in her coil up and arch back, barely containing itself below the surface. He wasn't sure she'd even looked that afraid when she'd been in a fevered panic thinking her dead husband was in the room.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, looking down, looking away, something she'd clearly become accustomed to. "I didn't realize you were in here." She turned then, making her escape quickly, and Daryl felt like he'd been shot through the gut. He could remember his mother being jumpy, trying not to make noise, especially after baby Sarah came, because the old man was always on edge and looking for a reason to lash out.

He dressed quickly, keeping his eye on the door, tugging his jeans on and then a flannel button down he'd found in the hall closet. When he left the bathroom, he could see her sitting on the edge of her bed, hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she bowed her head.

He knocked gently on her open door.

"M'sorry. I didn't expect ya to come walkin' in."

"It's ok," she said quietly. "I should have knocked."

"Carol." She looked up sharply, and he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way her lip quivered as if she'd expected something more, something worse. "I didn't mean to scare ya."

"You didn't."

"I did," he replied. Carol eyed him, and she swallowed the lump in her throat before wrapping her arms around herself.

"You don't like people to see your scars." Daryl flinched. "I get that. I do. I used to wear long sleeves so people wouldn't see the bruises. He'd leave his prints on me. He'd hurt me where they couldn't see. He kicked me down the porch steps when he found out I was pregnant with my son." Daryl's gaze fixed on hers, and he felt the overwhelming urge to look away, because looking someone in the eye made them vulnerable, made you vulnerable, and he'd worked for years trying to build a wall around himself so nobody could see the ghosts of his past.

"Why'd you stay?"

"Why does anyone stay? I was afraid. More afraid of what would happen if he found me. What he'd do." She cleared her throat. "I could have called the police. I could have gotten—what?—a restraining order? I could have done so many things, but in the moment, I was paralyzed. I didn't have a choice. I'd spent years thinking that I didn't have a choice. I figured that one day he'd be in hell and I'd be free of him. Then everything happened, we hit the road, and I realized that there's no hell for people like Ed. This _world_ is hell. We're just trying to survive it." She shifted and started to stand but quickly swooned, and Daryl reached out to steady her.

"Hey, you shouldn't be outta bed."

"I'm going crazy in here," she murmured. "I need to see my baby."

"I'll bring him to you, and I'll send Sophia in. Just sit tight. I'll bring him, and I'll bring his bed back up. Just don't go hurtin' yourself." Carol nodded then, and she scooted back up to rest against the pillow. Daryl returned minutes later with Sophia at his side and a sleeping baby in his arms.

"Hi, mama," Sophia said brightly, rushing to cozy in next to her mother in the bed. Carol pulled her arm around her daughter and snuggled her close.

"I missed you," Carol cooed, kissing the top of her head. "Did you eat?"

"Uh-huh! Daryl made eggs."

"That powdered shit—uh, crap—ain't the best, but it works in a jam."

"Thank you," Carol said softly, eyeing the baby in his arms.

"And Squirt's been fed and changed, and he's probably missin' his mama some."

"Squirt?"

"I figure he's gotta be called somethin', so you better pick a name fast, or he's gonna be Squirt for the rest of his life."

"I'll get on that," Carol chuckled as Daryl handed her the baby. "Oh my goodness. Oh. Hi, sweetheart." Daryl watched the way she beamed down at her baby, the way she cradled him so close, how she kept her arm around Sophia the whole time. He could see in that instant that this woman had made her whole life about her children. First Sophia. Now this baby, too.

"Were you…did you ever have children?" she asked, still looking at the baby. At the lack of response, she looked up and cocked her head to the side. "Daryl?"

"Huh?"

"Did you have children? Do you have…"

"Uh, no," he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh, I had a niece though. My brother's kid. She was about Sophia's age. Her and her mama…um, after everything…well, you know."

"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly.

"S'alright. The way things are now. But you got a safe place here. And I can help ya make it safer 'fore me and my brother leave."

"Oh," Carol said with a nod. "Thank you." She chewed her lip and looked back down at the baby. "I thought I'd know his name the second I saw him, and I thought I did have a name, but I don't think I do. And I've slept on it since he was born, but I just can't get his name right."

"You can name him Daryl, mama," Sophia offered. "Daryl's a good name."

"Daryl _is_ a good name," Carol agreed with a little smile.

"Hell, you don't wanna name him after me. Plenty of better names out there," he pointed out with a shrug, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'm gonna take Brody out, see if I can pick up Merle's tracks. I'll bring ya somethin' to eat 'fore I leave."

"Ok," Carol said with a nod. "We'll be alright, won't we, Sophia?"

"Uh-huh," Sophia replied, wrapping her fingers around one of the baby's feet. "But come back, ok, Daryl? Promise?"

"Promise," he nodded, feeling the lump forming in his throat again.

 _Stop it. These ain't yer kids. She sure as hell ain't yours. Take a big step back and keep it together. You're headin' for trouble, and it's only a matter of time before ya lose somebody or ya lose yourself._

 _"Get up. We gotta go." He shoved at his brother's shoulder, knocking him back from his kneeling position. Merle fell back on his ass but stayed seated on the muddy ground. "Merle, we gotta go. We gotta get the hell out 'fore that herd gets up the hill."_

 _"Just leave me be," Merle muttered._

 _"The hell you talkin' about? We don't leave nobody behind."_

 _"We left Andrea behind. Left my baby girl behind."_

 _"Man, that ain't what happened and you know it. I'm the one went huntin'. I went lookin' for food." Merle turned his head then, eyes flashing with anger._

 _"You sayin' this is my fault? Go on! Say it! You tell me it was my fault my wife's dead. My baby's dead." Merle stood then, hands balled into fists as he glared at his younger brother._

 _"That ain't what I'm sayin', Merle, now stop talkin' crazy!"_

 _"You went out lookin' for food, providin' for my goddamned family. And where was I? I wasn't watchin'. I was…I was goin' after a rotter that got too close. Didn't have to. The girls were safe. But I wanted to kill somethin'."_

 _"Merle."_

 _"Just leave me be!"_

 _"I ain't leavin' you. We don't leave. 'Member what you told me when I wanted to run away the night mom and dad died? You told me we don't leave 'cause we might get split up. M'sorry about Andrea. And Anna. I loved 'em , too. But this ain't your fault. You can't blame yourself for somethin'…hell, Andrea knew how to handle a gun!"_

 _"Don't put this on her! Don't you fuckin' put this on her!" Merle took a swing then, fist connecting with Daryl's jaw. Daryl stumbled backward, holding his throbbing jaw as he tasted copper on his gums. Daryl lunged forward then, grabbing Merle by the collar with one hand and swinging his free fist right at Merle's face._

 _Merle pushed back, sending his brother toppling over a tree stump, landing hard on his back. He was on top of him then, slamming his fist into his face until Daryl finally kneed him in the stomach and got the upper hand, flipping him onto his back and pushing down on his shoulders._

 _"You done yet?!" Daryl shouted, blood dripping from his lips. "You done? You wanna hate somebody, go right ahead. But you're not doin' this. Not here. You're gonna keep movin', 'cause I ain't gonna let you get yourself killed!" Merle let go then, body going limp there in the mud, and Daryl groaned, standing up and wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He held his hand out and helped Merle up._

 _With one last look at the two shallow graves, Merle turned his back and headed off toward the truck._

 _"C'mon. Let's get the hell outta here." Daryl watched his brother retreat, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him. And in this world, there was no time to pause and mourn. There was no time to plant flowers on the grave. There was no time for long goodbyes. It was over and done with now, and it was time to move on._

 _Daryl glanced over toward the large pine tree Merle had buried them under, and he saw Brody lying there with his head resting on his paws. He whistled for him, and the dog's ears perked up._

 _"C'mon, boy. Let's go. We gotta move on."_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The hill up to the camp was completely washed out, and the mud was so thick that climbing would have needed far more effort and energy than Daryl had to spare.

Brody whimpered and rested his head on his paws as Daryl walked around the area, using the scope from his shotgun to try and see up to where he'd left the tent and the note for Merle. He couldn't see past the fallen tree branches, and it frustrated him.

"Merle!" A crow cawed in the distance, and the sharp flutter of wings from a bush nearby startled him. Several birds flew off, and he stood still, listening. "Merle! You here?" Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as thick, black clouds rolled in off the mountains. Another storm. "Fuck." He sighed in frustration and kicked the toe of his boot against an exposed tree root before trudging back to his truck. "Get in, Brody." The dog obeyed and quickly hopped into the cab.

A rustling at the top of the hill, however, got Daryl's attention, and he reached for his crossbow.

"Stay. I don't come back, you run back to the farmhouse." He scratched the dog behind the ears. "M'sure you'd be better company for 'em than I would, anyway." The dog nuzzled his hand and whimpered. "I'll be back." He reached into the back of the truck for a rope and quickly made work of tying it against a low, sturdy tree branch. He then slipped the crossbow strap over his shoulder and grabbed the rope firmly in his hand before he began to slowly and painstakingly make his way up through the slick mud, feet sloshing and slipping all the way as he grabbed for jutting rocks and roots for purchase on his ascent.

He struggled for a good twenty minutes to get up that hill, to get up to where he'd left his camp, where he'd left a quick note for Merle, telling him where to go upon his return. And when he finally saw the top of his weather-battered tent, he let out a slow breath and made haste in pulling himself up the next few feet of slope. Then, the slack of the rope tightened, and Daryl quickly slipped it from around him and onto another tree branch, making a shaky but decent guide for the way back down.

"Merle!" Daryl called, only to see the tent shake as a low growl escaped. From experience, Daryl knew it was either animal or walker, and whichever was the case, he had his crossbow poised and ready.

Sweat beaded from at his temple as a gentle rain began, cooling his heated skin and making his lungs burn as the air around him chilled significantly. His breaths puffed in small clouds around him, and he flinched at the putrid smell that seemed to emanate from the tent.

The low growl coincided with a sickening grind of teeth against bone, and Daryl swallowed back the burning sensation in his throat while his stomach felt like one big knot.

His boots sloshed in the mud as he walked a wide circle around the tent. The stench grew bolder, and he tried to breathe out of his mouth as he stepped closer. He had to make a choice. Go in and put down whatever was in inside or draw it out into the open air. Yeah, that sounded better.

He bent down, grabbing a rock the size of his fist out of the mud, and he lunged at the crippled tent.

"M'out here!" he hollered, glancing around behind him to check for any other unwanted intruders. The growling grew louder, and he could see hands pushing and sliding against the sides of the tent. "Come on!"

Two bloodied, pale hands emerged from the tent opening, and Daryl took a step back, keeping his crossbow aimed directly at the intruder. For a split second, he could have sworn it was Merle judging by the closely shaved hair and the stature. But as the walker looked straight ahead with blood dripping from its mouth and what appeared to be flesh caught between its teeth, he knew it wasn't, and he took another step back as the shape came nearer, snarling and gnashing its teeth like a wolf after its prey.

He saw it then, the handle of a screwdriver, red and black, sticking out of the neck, jutting upward as if whoever put it there had done it in a desperate attempt to ward it off. Flesh peeled back from the wound, dripping with blood, and he quickly released a bolt, sending it straight into the walker's eye. It fell into the mud without ceremony, and Daryl quickly retrieved his bolt, wiped it on the corpse's clothes and proceeded into the tent, immediately biting back the urge to vomit again as he saw the smattering of blood along the tent floor.

It was then that he saw the plastic bag with the note left inside for Merle. It was empty and smeared with blood, and in the corner of the tent, by one of the blankets, he saw the paper crumpled up and stained with dried blood.

It was then, as the hot, sick wave of fear settled into his skin, that he realized that whoever had read that note, whoever had been there just might be on their way to the farm house.

Then he saw it, half-hidden by a fur pelt in the corner. Merle's pack.

"Christ," he murmured under his breath. He sure as hell knew that hadn't been there when he'd left. Merle had taken it with him when he'd ventured out into the woods looking for food.

He pulled the blanket back, and he quickly snatched up Merle's pack, opening it up to find a half-empty water bottle and empty food packets, and a first aid kit. It was when he glanced down at the sickening realization hit him.

Merle had a hatchet he would take on his excursions into the woods, cutting down thick vegetation and tall weeds that might obscure his path. There it was, coated with blood, and lying next to it was the last thing Daryl wanted to see. A hand, bitten by the thumb and cut off at the wrist. And there, glistening on one finger, was the silver band with an obsidian setting that he recognized as the one Andrea had slid on Merle's finger the day they said their vows.

He bent down, grabbing for a handkerchief in Merle's pack. Using it, he slid the ring from the still-pliable finger, and he stepped out of the tent, holding the ring up into the light. Sure enough, the word 'always' was etched into the backside of the band.

"Jesus," he murmured, bowing his head as his heart raced beneath his breast. It was only then that he noticed the set of tracks at the side of the tent, each step dragging and forced as a dotted trail of blood lay to the wayside.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing, because he knew that if he didn't, he might lose his fucking mind.

"Merle!" he hollered. "Merle!" The cold weight of dread hit the bottom of his stomach like a brick, and he quickly grabbed his rifle scope and stepped back around the tent to grab at the rope. With a racing heart, he pointed the scope in the direction of the old farmhouse, and that was when he saw it: the form of his brother limping slowly toward the gates.

...

Tiny handprints smudged the foggy window pane as the rain flooded the already soggy land. Tiny breaths quickened as those bright blue eyes peeked out the window at the form slumped on the porch.

Sophia glanced toward the staircase, listening to the sounds of her mother humming a lullaby to her baby brother. She chewed her lip, eyes frantic as she turned her attention back outside, scanning the area for any sign of Daryl. He'd promised he'd be back.

The man on the porch was slumped over, and she couldn't see his face, and his legs were sprawled out, clothes wet and dirty.

She jumped when thunder boomed overhead, and she chewed her lip, standing on her tiptoes as if that would help her see further. But she saw no sign of Daryl or Brody, and she was starting to wonder if he'd ever come back.

The figure on the porch shifted then, and she gasped.

"Mama!" She looked back toward the stairs, and the humming stopped. "Mama!"

"Sophia?! Are you ok?"

"Mama, there's a man on the porch! I think he's dead!" She turned to look back at the figure that struggled to roll to his side. He groaned, and she jumped, peering out at him as he rolled to his back. And then she saw the bloody stump of his wrist.

The scream is what startled him. His eyes flew open, and he groaned in pain, grimacing as he blinked up at the porch ceiling and tried to figure out where the hell he was and how the hell he got there. He could hear the rain pounding on the roof, and he could hear a small child's cries.

He blinked and peered up through the fogged glass, and he saw her. His girl. His Anna.

"Mama!" Sophia cried as this strange man stared up at her. His hand clamped over the doorknob, and she took a step back.

"Sophia!" Carol cried out, making her way down the stairs as quickly as she could. She tied her robe around herself, tightening the sash as she rushed to her daughter's side. It was then that she saw the door crack open, and she grabbed for Sophia, pushing her behind her.

"Stay back!" Carol ordered, reaching for the baseball bat behind the door. She took a quick step back as the figure pulled himself over the threshold, looking up at her, looking at Anna, holding one hand out toward Sophia.

"Anna," he rasped out, before he collapsed. Blood pooled out from his injured arm, and Sophia buried her face against her mother's back, clutching at her and weeping as she trembled in fear. Carol watched the unsteady rise and fall of the man's chest as he lay passed out on her floor, and she was shaking, gripping the bat, eyes wide with fear as her own chest rose and fell in quick gasps.

"It's ok, baby," Carol whispered, leading her daughter back into the kitchen. "It's ok. Come on."

"Is he dead, Mama?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I need you to wait here, ok? I need you to wait until I come get you. Can you do that for me?" Sophia nodded and sat down at the table while Carol turned and slowly moved back into the living room. It was then that she heard the rattle of an engine cutting off, and she heard Brody bark before he ran through the door, sniffing the man who lay on her foyer floor. Whimpering, he looked up at her before resting his head on the man's shoulder.

Daryl came rushing through the door then, crossbow poised at the man's head.

"He dead?" Carol, wide-eyed, shook her head.

"No. I don't think…I mean, he's breathing."

"You ok? He hurt you?"

"What? No. Um, Sophia got scared, and she called me down, and he came through the door. I don't…it happened so fast."

"She ok?"

"Just a little scared. She's fine though." Daryl knelt down next to the body and rolled him onto his side.

"Merle. Hey. Merle." He roughly swatted at Merle's face, trying to bring him to. "Merle, wake up."

"What happened to him?" Carol asked, kneeling down next to Daryl.

"Must've got bit. Cut his own hand off."

"Oh God," she murmured, swallowing back the urge to heave. "Is he gonna…"

"I dunno," Daryl muttered. "But I know if he loses much more blood, it ain't gonna matter, 'cause he's gonna die anyway." He stood and attempted to hoist his brother up.

"Let me help."

"Nah, you stay back," he grunted, getting Merle sat up enough that he could get his arms around his chest and tug him toward the couch. "I got him."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The stench of burnt flesh filled the house, and it was almost too much for Daryl to stomach. But he'd seen a lot of bad shit since before the world turned, and while this was almost at the top of the list, he was keeping it together, because he could feel the pair of eyes that was watching him not-so-secretly from the hallway. He had to be brave, because the last thing he needed was to scare the hell out of a little girl who had already been through so much.

The iron he'd used to cauterize Merle's bleeding stump now lay on its side, unplugged and rendered completely unusable from that point forward. Merle had woken during the burning but had quickly passed out from shock. Meanwhile, Carol had retrieved some antibiotics from upstairs, mixed them with water and helped Daryl get Merle to swallow it.

Now, Merle was shaking and sweating on the couch. Daryl had pulled up a chair to sit watch next to him, and when he felt the touch of her hand on his shoulder, he jumped.

"Here," she said quietly, handing him some freshly torn bed linens. "He'll need his bandages changed soon. I can boil the old ones in case there's any infection." Daryl cleared his throat and grunted a thanks, taking the linens and placing them to the side.

"M'sorry if he scared ya. Or your little girl. He's been through hell, ya know?"

"Haven't we all?" Carol asked quietly. "This fever, Daryl…you know what it could mean, right?"

"Yeah, I know. And if it happens, I'll put him down. He wouldn't want…that. He'd wanna go out while he's still him, you know?" Carol nodded then, leaning forward to put her hand against Merle's forehead. He was still burning up.

"He called her Anna," she said quietly.

"Anna was his daughter," he said softly. "He ain't been the same since we lost her. Probably delirious. He ain't never had the time to grieve. We've been runnin' all this time." He swallowed the lump in his throat as the sting of tears threatened to break him. "I, uh, I can't promise anything when it comes to Merle. He's got his own mind, does what he wants. When he wakes up…he might wanna get the hell outta here, you know?"

"And you'll go with him," Carol said quietly.

"He's my brother, y'know?"

"Of course." Carol let out a slow breath. "I understand." She fidgeted there for a moment next to him. "But I just want you to know that if you change your mind, you're welcome here. You really are. You've done so much for me, for my children. And he's your family, so he's welcome, too."

"Thank you." Daryl glanced up at her and watched her sway slightly on her feet. "You gotta sit down. Get off your feet."

"Oh, I can't. I have to feed the baby- and make Sophia lunch."

"I got it," he offered, standing up quickly and pulling the chair out a little. "Here. Sit down." He reached out, gently touching her hand, and her gaze was drawn down to where their fingers touched, and then she met his gaze, watching his cheeks brightened. "C'mon. You been on your feet too long."

"I know what I can handle, Daryl. You don't have to…"

"Just sit down 'fore you make yourself sick again." Carol sighed and did as Daryl instructed. "When'd he eat last?"

"Hmm?"

"Squirt. When'd he eat?"

"Oh," Carol laughed, amused by Daryl's nickname for her son. "He ate about two ounces before Merle showed up."

"Alright. He'll be wantin' a couple more then. And Sophia'll want s'ghetti rings."

"That's right," Carol replied with a quirked eyebrow. It was funny how quickly Daryl could fall right into such a domestic role without bitching about it like Ed would have. The man was so quiet, so closed off that it was hard to get a good read on him, but what she did know was that he was kind, that he put others before himself, that he would do anything for family. And he'd taken care of her children as if they were his own family these past couple of days. And now that she was on the mend, she could truly pay attention and see the gentle way he cradled her son, the way he spoke so softly to Sophia, the way Sophia would grin at him and follow him around the room like he was her whole world.

Carol turned her attention back to the man lying on the couch in front of her. She couldn't see the family resemblance, per se, but she could definitely tell that Merle was the older of the two, face set in a grim frown as sweat beaded at his temple.

She could hear Daryl's footsteps upstairs, followed by Sophia's chattering, and she smiled, imagining Daryl pacing back and forth with a feeding baby in his arms and a five-year-old talking his ear off.

She shifted uncomfortably in the seat, stifling a groan as her body began to ache. She honestly hadn't expected to survive the pregnancy let alone the birth. Sophia's birth had been an excruciating experience, and it hadn't helped that the second she'd come home from the hospital, Ed expected her to still tend to his needs like before.

This was all new. She wasn't accustomed to someone caring for her and looking out for her well-being. She wasn't accustomed to someone helping out with the kids instead of treating every diaper change and bottle grudgingly like an obligation. And she didn't even _know_ this man. He was a completely stranger just days ago. But if it hadn't been for him, well, she didn't even want to consider that possibility.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a hand reach out for her. She gasped when his weak fingers grasped her wrist. His eyes fluttered open for just a moment before he relaxed against the couch, letting go of her arm.

"Andrea," he murmured weakly. "M'sorry."

"Shh," she soothed, putting her hand against his forehead.

"It's my fault. I shoulda been there."

"Shh. Merle," she whispered, watching as his chest began to rise and fall shakily with each rapid breath.

"I shoulda been there. It's my fault you're gone. It's my fault she's…oh God...forgive me."

"It's ok," she whispered. "It's ok, Merle. I forgive you." She watched the way his breathing slowed.

"I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," she whispered again. "You just rest now. Daryl needs you. Ok?"

"I love you," he murmured before he went slack against the couch again. Carol sighed and wiped at his forehead, gently pressing her fingers against his neck to check his pulse. It was fast against her fingertips, and she ran her fingers through her hair, sighed and starting to stand when Daryl came into the room.

"I heard him talkin'," he said quietly, holding the baby close and patting his little back. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing," she said with a shake of her head. "He's delirious." A beat. "Daryl? Give me the baby. You sit with him. I can take care of him."

"You need to rest," Daryl pointed out.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just be with your brother. His fever's bad, Daryl." Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at the baby before slowly placing him in his mother's arms. She held the little one close, and his tiny pink face scrunched up as if to cry before she patted his back again and rocked him close. He was sleeping again in moments, and she moved to the recliner to rest, slowly rocking the baby until he was sleeping soundly against her breast.

...

"He's gonna die," Daryl said quietly, as he poked at his plate of food. Carol sat across from him, barely touching her own plate.

"You don't know that. He's got an infection around the wound. That could be what's giving him such a fever. He might have acted in time."

"It was always Merle and me," Daryl said thoughtfully. "Growin' up, it wasn't nothin' to hear glass breakin' in the middle of the night. Our old man would come home drunk and start slappin' our mom around. Me and Merle were just kids. Couldn't do nothin' to stop it."

"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly, thinking back to all those nights she tried not to scream for fear of waking Sophia.

"I was nine when the cops showed up at school and told me my parents were dead. Didn't know 'til years later my daddy put a gun to my mama's head and then turned it on himself." He watched as the tears filled Carol's eyes, and he forced himself not to look away. He needed this. He needed to tell someone before it was too late. He needed someone to know that Merle was much more than the piece of shit he tried to convince everybody that he was. "Merle was fourteen, and he was as scared as me. But he didn't show it when he knew I was watchin'. But I knew. I wanted to run away, 'cause the thought of goin' to some strange house was somehow worse. What if it was worse there than it was at home? But Merle said if I ran away, we night never see each other again. So I stayed. We had a shaky start, but things got better. Merle got into some trouble, but I think it was his way of dealin' with everything."

"I can't imagine what that must have been like for you," Carol said softly, reaching across the table and putting her hand over his. Daryl's skin warmed at her touch, and he blinked in surprise at the sudden contact.

"Even when Merle was older, out on his own, he looked out for me, y'know? Whatever shit he got himself into, he was still lookin' out for me. Then he met Andrea, cleaned himself up, found a reason to live, I guess. And you shoulda seen him with that little girl. The second he held her, it was like he was a whole different person. I mean, he was Merle, but he had this purpose now. He had somethin' to hold onto."

"To fight for," Carol said softly.

"Yeah," Daryl murmured. "He did, too. He fought. He's been tryin' to fight since she died, too." He cleared his throat then, pushing his plate back.

"You should eat. You've been taking care of everybody but yourself."

"I'm fine," he promised.

"No. You're not. Eat. Please."

"I gotta change his bandages."

"I'll do that," she offered. "I just had a baby, I'm not an invalid." Daryl stared at her for a moment. "I feel ok."

"I'll eat if you do," he replied, glancing at her plate. Carol pursed her lips then, and she looked over toward the bassinet where the baby was sleeping soundly. She could hear the clatter of Sophia's toys as he played upstairs. This was all so very domestic despite the dead walking around outside and the one-handed man lying feverish in the living room.

"Alright, deal," she said with a nod, picking up her fork and spearing a carrot from her plate. When she looked up at Daryl, he barely hid a grin before he ducked his head and started to finish off his plate.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Mommy, why can't I play downstairs?" Sophia asked with a frown as she sat on Carol's bed and passed her mother a fresh diaper for the baby.

"Honey, Daryl's brother's downstairs, and we don't want to bother him while he's getting better."

"Is he getting better?"

"Well," Carol considered, "he isn't getting worse, and that's just about as good as getting better these days."

As a matter of fact, it had been two days since Merle had shown up on the porch, and while his fever had gone down, it hadn't completely broken, but the antibiotics seemed to be helping with the slight infection his wound had picked up.

Daryl spent the better part of those two days pulling gas out of abandoned cars down the road and the nights sleeping in the recliner with a gun in his lap just in case the worst were to happen.

However, the sound of water running in the shower when she'd woken told her that he was getting cleaned up, and so she'd quickly fed the baby and was now finishing up his diaper change as Sophia assisted her.

"Can we go outside today, Mama?"

"It's not safe, honey."

"But we have fences!" Sophia pouted. "I wanna play." Carol sighed wearily as her daughter sat there pouting, and she swaddled the baby.

"Why don't you go play in your room, and maybe after we've had breakfast we'll take a walk around outside with your brother."

"Ok!" Sophia replied, brightening considerably. She gave the baby a kiss upon the head and bounded off the bed to go play in her own little room. Carol smiled a little and held the baby close, nuzzling his cheek with her nose.

"You gonna sleep? Huh? You're not gonna let mama see those pretty eyes?" She smiled, gently touching his bald little head, marveling at how different he was. Sophia had been born with a head full of dark hair that had lightened considerably over the last five years. He was born almost completely bald with a little bit of blonde peach fuzz atop his head, and it seemed that hair was falling out, making him even balder. He was adorably chubby for being such a tiny baby, and Carol was just thankful he was eating well, though the concern was always there in the back of her mind that there would be no more vaccinations, no more preventative measures for childhood illnesses that hadn't even been a worry for decades. But now? Now she almost felt like putting him in a bubble to protect him from everything out there that could possibly harm him. It was impossible, she knew, but it didn't stop her from worrying.

"Hey." Carol looked up in surprise to see him standing there, dressed, clean-shaven with his hair plastered to the sides of his neck and still dripping wet.

"Hey." She eyed him curiously.

"I found somethin' this mornin' when I was out fillin' the generator."

"What'd you find?" Carol asked, carrying the baby over to the bassinet and laying him inside.

"I found some packets of seeds in a wicker basket. Corn, carrots, cucumbers. I brought 'em in and put 'em in the kitchen. Come Spring, you can start a garden."

"Oh. Thank you," Carol said with a nod.

"And maybe when Merle's feelin' like himself again, I can go into town, see if I can get you somethin' else, you know, that way you don't gotta run out and get it for yourself." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, leaning against the doorway.

"Daryl," Carol said quietly, moving across the room to stand in front of him, "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me and for my children."

"You don't gotta thank me for that," he murmured, narrowing his eyes at her. "What was I s'posed to do?" Carol flinched at his tone, and then she saw the redness hit his cheeks. "M'sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said with a shake of her head. "I should go downstairs and check on your brother's bandages." She started to push past him and into the hall, and that was when she felt his hand graze over her arm. He barely touched her, but she could feel it all over. She turned then, meeting his gaze before she looked away again. "Daryl…"

"Merle's blood," he said quietly. "But blood ain't the only thing that makes a family."

"No," she choked out. "It's…not. You're right."

"I'll talk to him. When he wakes up, I'll talk to him about stayin'. If…if you're still offerin'." Carol's eyes brightened then, and she had to force herself to maintain her composure, because inside, her heart was thundering, and her stomach was doing cartwheels.

"I…of course." She watched the corner of his mouth twitch up into what was almost a smile, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone, and he was clearing his throat and ducking out from around her and heading for the stairs. And then, as if she'd suddenly remembered her voice, she called out. "Uh, Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"I picked a name," she said softly.

"What'd you decide?"

"Well, he was…from the beginning, a gift. I wasn't sure. I was afraid to want him. But by the time I knew that I needed him, I already loved him, and I knew that he was given to me for a reason. That I was supposed to be his mother. Whatever time we have left, whatever time I have with him, I know that he was a gift, something to be cherished. So I named him Elijah. Eli." Daryl chewed his lip then, nodding his head for a moment.

"It's a good name," he said quietly. "Happens to be my middle name."

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope. Daryl Elijah Dixon. Never much cared for it for me, but for him? I think it works." Carol smiled then, and Sophia came running out of her room.

"Daryl! Daryl, I saw a horse!"

"A horse?" he asked.

"Uh-huh! Look! Look, come see!" She grabbed his hand and started tugging, and Daryl glanced at Carol who gave him a little shrug before the three of them all headed into Sophia's room. The little girl let go of Daryl's hand and bounded over to the window, where Brody was watching something very closely with his paws on the windowsill.

"You look like an old housecat snoopin' on the neighbors," Daryl snorted, scratching Brody behind the ears before he peeked out to see what the dog was looking at. Sure enough, off past the fence that separated two overgrown fields, he could see a horse grazing, looking a little thin but still healthy, it's brown hide dusty from weather and wind.

"Can you teach me how to ride him, Daryl?" Sophia begged. Daryl glanced at Sophia and then at Carol who knelt down next to Sophia.

"Honey, you're a little young for that."

"But what if he's the last horse in the world and I won't ever get to learn?"

"Kid's got a point," Daryl chuckled. "Thing is, I only rode a horse once in my whole life. Don't think I'd be much help to ya."

"Aw," Sophia groaned. "Can you pick me up so I can see him better?" Daryl chuckled at the request but promptly scooped the girl up into his arms and held her by the window so she could get a better look at the pretty horse across the lot. Carol stepped closer then, standing next to him, feeling the heat from his skin against her arm. She glanced up at him, and he caught her gaze, and just when he'd held eye contact for longer than he was usually comfortable with, a creak from the doorway startled them both.

"Well, look what we have here." Carol and Daryl both turned to see Merle standing there, pale and sweating with his bandaged arm hanging limply at his side. "I go huntin' and come back to find ya'll playin' happy family. What's the deal, baby brother? You can't find a woman of your own so you go after mine?"

"Merle," Daryl muttered from the window. "What're you doin' up?" He put Sophia down, and she quickly moved to hide behind her mother, peeking out from behind her legs with a fearful curiosity.

"You think you can pull the wool over my eyes? Huh?" Merle swayed, dizzy as he stood there, quickly losing his grip on reality as Daryl stepped toward him. "You think you can…steal my wife. My baby girl?"

"Merle, this ain't your family," Daryl urged, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. Merle quickly shrugged him off.

"Get yer damn hands off of me, boy!" He stumbled toward the hall then, nearly falling before Daryl grabbed him under the arm and steadied him. "You think you can…can take my family, leave me out in the cold to die?"

"That _ain't_ your family. You're sick, Merle. We gotta lay you down somewhere." He struggled to get Merle into a spare room, and Merle fought him every step of the way until Carol came walking out of Sophia's room, giving Daryl a look before she placed her hand on Merle's shoulder.

"It's ok," she urged. "Please, just rest." He looked at her for a moment, confusion swimming in his eyes, and then he looked at Daryl.

"What's goin' on?"

"You're sick, Merle. C'mon. Let's get you to bed," Daryl urged. Merle stopped fighting then, staring at Carol as she helped Daryl hold him up.

"Most beautiful….most beautiful thing I ever did see," Merle murmured, before his eyes rolled up and his knees buckled. Daryl caught him around the middle, dragging Merle down the hall and to one of the bedrooms, leaving Carol speechless in the hall. When he returned, he shut the door and ran his hand through his hair.

"I better get him some more meds." He cleared his throat. "Thanks for, um, for helpin'. He ain't in his right mind. The fever."

"I know," Carol said with a nod. "It's ok. You take care of your brother. I'll start breakfast."

"Alright," he said with a nod, brushing his hand over her shoulder. Carol brought her hand up, resting it over his for a moment, and then Sophia came rushing out of her room and they pulled away.

"I'm hungry, Mama," Sophia announced.

"Alright, sweetheart," Carol replied with a smile, taking her girl's hand. "Let's go." She passed one last glance up at Daryl, meeting his gaze, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest at the same time her stomach twisted into knots and her heart began to ache. She was getting attached, and she knew it, and that was going to make it all the more difficult when they had to say goodbye. Surely a man like Merle wouldn't be too keen to stay cooped up in a farm house with a woman and a couple of young kids for too long.

She took a deep breath and looked away, missing the way he flinched when she broke the gaze. And then she was gone, leaving him standing upstairs alone with those same knots in his stomach and the same tugging in his chest. For the first time in his life, Daryl Dixon was beginning to understand what it felt like to fall in love.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Ew, mama, Eli _stinks_ ," Sophia giggled, pinching her nose as Carol picked the baby up out of the crib. She carried him over to the changing table and made quick work of changing his messy diaper. But she was delighted to do it, considering she hadn't thought she'd ever have a changing table or a crib again, and Daryl had brought in a whole bunch of supplies a few days ago on the back of his pickup.

"All better," Carol promised, snapping the sleeper back up before swaddling the little one again. He fussed, and she rocked him back and forth as she carried him before finally laying him down and buckling him into the gliding swing. "There you go, little man." The baby fussed for a few moments before the swinging motion lulled soothed him into a sleepy state.

It was then that Carol could smell the mouth-watering aroma of pancakes on the stove, and her stomach grumbled.

"Alright, Sophia. Why don't we go get some breakfast? Sounds like Daryl's already got something ready."

"Uh-huh! I'm hungry. Can I have extra syrup?"

"Oh, we'll see," Carol chuckled. "You go on down, and I'll be right there."

"Ok, Mama." Sophia rushed out of the room.

"Don't run!"

"Sorry, Mama!" Carol could hear her steps slow until she got down the stairs, and then she sprinted off toward the kitchen. With a sigh, Carol moved across the room and looked herself over in the mirror. She flatted her hand against her tummy still amazed that a little over a month ago, she'd felt Elijah kicking away inside of her. It was hard to believe a month had passed since his birth. In many ways, it was still hard to believe that she was alive, that her children were safe, that somehow her family had expanded by four with the addition of baby Eli, Daryl, Merle, and of course, Brody. Though some were more reluctant than others.

She ran her fingers through her hair before pulling her curls up in a loose bun. She turned, admiring the new curves of her body, the way her breasts were swollen with milk, the way her belly was still rounded somewhat. She felt good. She was still tired, achy, and occasionally emotional as her body slowly returned to its regularly scheduled hormones.

She heard the thud of footsteps on the landing, and out of the corner of her eye, in the reflection of the mirror, she saw a flash of somebody walking past the door.

"Merle?" She moved swiftly to her door only to find his door shutting loudly in his wake. Pursing her lips, she marched across the hall and tapped at his door.

"Ain't feelin' like company."

"Why don't you come down and eat with the rest of us?"

"Don't feel like company," he repeated. Carol frowned and opened the door, only to find a steely, darkened pair of eyes glowering at her from across the room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed with a plate balanced on his lap and a fork in his hand while he used the bandaged stump of the other arm to keep the plate steady.

"You should come downstairs. Spend time with your brother."

"Me and my brother spend plenty of time together. Who the hell you think helped him lug all this shit home for your kids?"

"You know, you'd think you could show a little gratitude. If it wasn't for Daryl, if it wasn't for the medicine in _my_ house, you would probably be dead." She regretted her words the second they left her lips and were met with a look of pure vitriol.

"Sweetheart, look around. What on this godforsaken world is there to be grateful for? Ya'll should've let me die." She watched as he speared a piece of pancake with his fork and swallowed it down.

"If you hate it here so much, why don't you leave?" she asked. "Hmm?" She eyed him. "Daryl doesn't want to leave, does he? That's the only reason you tolerate staying here."

"Lady, you're a real piece of work. Tryin' to read me, tryin' to figure me out. Let me tell you somethin'. I'll let you in on a little secret. This here? This is me. There ain't nothin' to fix, nothin' to heal. You can't fix somethin' that's missin' too many pieces to be put back together. Whatever I used to be died the day I put my wife and daughter in the ground. You want Sammy Sunshine Positive? Look somewhere else, 'cause he ain't me." As Carol turned, he put his fork down with a loud clang. "And the day I decide to leave here, you best believe I ain't leavin' alone." She turned again, eyeing him, trying to read him, but she knew in that moment that the words he was about to say would hurt more than she expected them to. "You think he treats you good, that he does these things, that maybe he looks at you a little longer than he should. And you like it. You like how he is with your kids, 'cause I'm guessin' the sumbitch you was married to wouldn't treat you like a _real_ woman. Wouldn't treat your kids like he should. But in comes my baby brother, the sweet one. And he's good with 'em. And he makes you smile. And he looks at ya like maybe there's somethin' there. But lemme tell ya, there ain't. It's always been him and me. Always. And no bitch with a couple leftovers from a shitty marriage is gonna change that."

Carol felt her blood run cold, and she honestly wasn't sure if she wanted to yell or cry, but instead, she turned and calmly walked out of the room, shutting Merle's door behind him. But when she turned around, she almost smacked right into Daryl. She froze, and Daryl put his hand on her arm, and she looked away, avoiding his gaze completely.

"Excuse me," she said quietly, stepping around him and starting for the stairs.

"Hey," he called. "What'd he say to you?"

"Nothing," she lied, taking a step down.

"Whatever he said…he ain't himself."

"Daryl," Carol sighed, "he's angry. He doesn't know how to deal with everything that's happened to him. He's lashing out."

"I'll talk to him."

"It's not just that," she sighed, glancing anxiously at Merle's door. "He's getting louder. Angrier. I know you say to trust him, but I'm worried about my kids." Daryl shifted, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Merle wouldn't hurt 'em."

"Maybe," Carols aid quietly, "but the things he says…"

"What'd he say to you? I knew it wasn't nothin'."

"It doesn't matter," Carol said quickly. "Look, you've become a part of this family. You have." She chewed her lip for a moment. "Now, I don't know exactly what part that is, but you're here, and you fit in, and you've helped make this place safe for my children. I will _always_ be grateful for everything you've done. And I know you don't want to go anywhere without Merle. And you shouldn't have to, but—"

"Carol. I'll talk to him." Carol glanced one more time at Merle's door and then back at Daryl before she nodded. And then she left him to go downstairs. With a barely restrained groan of dread, he knocked at Merle's door.

"Might as well be open. Nobody cares 'bout shut doors around this place anyway." Daryl pushed the door open to find Merle finishing off his plate of food.

"What the hell'd you say to her?"

"What makes you think I said anything? She go cryin' to ya the second she left me?"

"Why do ya gotta be such a prick? You know what she's been through?"

"Baby brother, we all been through our own shit storms. None of it matters. Only thing that matters is that it's us versus them." He gestured toward the window with his injured arm. "The only thing that matters is keeping our skin away from their teeth, puttin' them down 'fore they get to us. And if they _do_ get to us, we gotta have the balls to do what's gotta be done." He patted his bandage. "You think your sweetheart would have the nerve to do this to one of her kids? You think she'd do it for you if it came down to it?"

"What's wrong with you?" Daryl asked, narrowing his eyes. "You just gonna be mad at everybody? She wants to help ya."

"Only reason is 'cause she's sweet on you." Daryl flinched, and Merle grinned. "You're clueless, little brother. I seen the way you look at her. You're in love with her."

"I ain't," Daryl muttered.

"You're a shitty liar, bro," Merle smirked.

"Look, would ya stop bein' such an asshole 'fore she kicks you outta here?"

"You mean, _us._ 'Fore she kicks _us_ outta here." Merle watched his brother, watched the way he took a step back, the way he rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans, the way he suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere else than in that room. "Huh. Well, ain't that somethin'. And I bet I can't even say it's 'cause you're pussy-whipped, huh?"

"Fuck you," Daryl bit out. "You don't know shit. You just wanna hate everybody and everything, 'cause the only woman who's ever gonna love you is dead!" Merle was up off the bed within half a second, pushing Daryl up against the wall. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and held his bad forearm sideways across Daryl's throat.

"You best be real careful what you say, baby brother. Blood or not, I'll lay you out flat."

"You're an idiot," Daryl spat. "You wanna blame everybody, when there ain't nobody to blame! You got a death wish or somethin'? You wanna push everybody away 'til you ain't got nobody left, even me." Merle grit his teeth and huffed, slamming Daryl back against the wall before he let him go.

"Get the hell out."

"Merle."

"Get out."

"Merle, you gotta stop this. You gotta wake up."

"Oh, I'm awake, little brother. For the first time in my life, I'm awake, and all I see is a fuckin' coward standin' in front of me. Can't tell the woman he loves how he feels, 'cause he's afraid of bein' turned down like the loser he always is."

"You sound like dad," Daryl spat. "That who you wanna be? A drug-addict who couldn't deal with this world, so he killed himself and took his wife along with him? That who you wanna be?"

"You forget my wife's already dead? My baby girl? You shoulda let me die. You shoulda let me be with them."

" _You_ made the choice," Daryl reminded him. "You're the one that cut off your hand. Not me. I just cleaned up the mess you made. Again." He turned and walked out of the room, stopping by the nursery to pick up a fussy Eli before heading downstairs to be with better company. As much as it hurt to say those things to Merle, he knew it had to be said.

He moved toward the kitchen with the baby in his arms, and that was when he felt her hand on his back.

"Hey," she murmured softly. "What happened up there?"

"It's up to him," Daryl murmured, patting the baby's back gently. "He wants to leave, he can leave. But I ain't goin'. He ain't draggin' me anywhere else." He swallowed back his hesitation and brought one hand down to brush his fingers over hers. "I'm already home."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The house was quiet. She hadn't seen even a glimpse of Merle since she left his room earlier that morning. Sophia was napping, and Daryl had slipped away with the baby to let Carol rest, but she'd just lay there staring at the ceiling trying to process the events of that day.

She could still feel his fingers brushing over hers, she could still see the look in his eyes, the pain of what had happened to his brother still fresh like an open wound. She could still hear the certainty in his voice as he told her he was home, as if he'd just made the toughest decision of his life in breaking free of a lifetime's worth of loyalty to his brother.

And she felt guilty. The nagging feeling in her gut had her tossing and turning, and finally, she just had to get up.

She knew he hadn't made the decision to stay lightly. It had always been him and Merle, and after Merle's family had died, it had been just the two of them once again. Everything had changed. She didn't know what it meant for him or for her or for _them_ , but it certainly had her nerves on edge and her stomach tying up into knots every time she thought about it.

Honestly, she'd thought long ago that she'd die at the hands of her husband. She certainly had never expected the events that had unfolded with the infection that had wiped out most of the world's population. She certainly hadn't expected to end up raising her daughter alone and giving birth in the middle of a rainstorm in a dusty old farmhouse. And she'd most definitely never expected for Daryl Dixon to come into her life, save her life and show her that there were still good people out there, even in this desolate world.

She still couldn't quite wrap her head around what he'd meant when he'd said he was already home. He was staying, she was certain, but what did that mean to him? What did that mean for her and her children? What did that mean for Merle?

Everything was up in the air, and Carol knew that her own emotions had been a little unbalanced as of late, but she certainly knew her own mind and her own heart, and every day Daryl seemed to take another little piece of it just in the way he treated her, the way he was so great with her kids, the way he seemed to know exactly what she needed. She'd never known someone like him, so willing to help out and do things that completely surprised her, such as bringing home a crib and other things for the baby. She hadn't asked him, but he'd brought them anyway along with a few toys for Sophia, which had certainly made the little girl happy.

Then the brush of his fingertips over her hand came back to haunt her memories, and she shivered, and the tears welled in her eyes.

The stairs creaked under her feet as she made her way downstairs slowly, keeping an ear out for any sound from Sophia or the baby. The silence was unsettling, and given that the sun was out and the birds were singing, Carol felt her heart begin to race.

She started back up the stairs, peeking into Sophia's room to see her curled up under her covers. Brody slept at the foot of her bed and barely raised his sleepy head to acknowledge Carol's presence. Chewing her lip, she started back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Nothing.

It was then that her heart really started to reach for her throat, so she wasted no time rushing down the hall and into the living room only to stop right in the doorway at the sight before her. Daryl was sprawled out on the couch with his head propped on a pillow. One arm was protectively cradling baby Eli who rested his sleepy head on Daryl's chest. His other hand was tucked under the baby's bottom, effectively keeping him safe and snug against Daryl as he slept.

Carol bit her lip but it was no use. The smile was too wide to contain, and she made her way over to the couch, gently kneeling down to run her hand over the back of Eli's head. The baby grunted and cooed in his sleep, and she leaned forward to press a kiss to his ear.

Daryl sighed in his sleep, and Carol couldn't help but smile, placing her hand gently against Elijah's. Her fingertip just barely brushed Daryl's arm, and he stretched in his sleep, yawning but not opening his eyes.

"I'm gonna take the baby," she whispered. "You can keep sleeping."

"Hmm."

"Daryl," she chuckled. "I'm taking the baby."

"You sleep?" he asked, eyes still shut as he let his arms go lax around the baby.

"I did. Thank you for watching him."

"Mmm," he murmured, getting a stifled giggle from her.

"Daryl?" No response. "Ok. Sleep now." She smiled then and stood, but before she took the baby, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to Daryl's forehead.

"Mmm," he grumbled in response. She chuckled, her breath warming his face, and that was when his eyes opened, and his hand came up, and he gently caressed her cheek. Carol smiled at him then, licking her lips before she leaned in. She barely pressed her lips against his, but it was enough, and when she pulled back, he grinned at her before he lifted the baby up. She took Eli and straightened, cradling him gently against her chest. "Sweet dreams, Daryl." Daryl was still smiling when he closed his eyes again.


	11. Chapter 11

A Cry in the Thunder

Chapter 11

The baby's cries woke her, and she blinked into the darkness of the early morning, sitting up and tossing the quilt off as the cool air blanketed her. She shivered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting for a moment to let herself wake up a little more before attempting to get to the baby.

Grabbing her robe, she threw it on and felt for the box of matches on her bedside table. Within a few moments, the warm glow of the oil lamp filled the room. She carefully stepped over a fallen pillow on the floor to pick up Elijah from his bed.

"Hey, buddy," she whispered, holding him close. His little feet were pumping the air, and his head lolled forward, bumping into her shoulder. "Hey, what's the matter? Hmm? What's the matter?" She kissed the top of his head and patted his back. "Are you hungry? Hmm? Are you wet?" She felt his diaper, finding it to be only a little damp, but she went ahead and changed him anyway. With a frown, she cradled him close, now fearing he'd wake the entire household up. So she eased back down onto her bed and unbuttoned the first few buttons on the flannel night shirt, quickly giving the baby access to a breast to nurse.

He pumped his little hands against her skin as he suckled hungrily, and she gently stroked his hair, running her fingers over the fine hairs that still remained on his baby skin, over his ears and on his forehead.

"Mama loves you," she cooed, rocking him back and forth on the bed. She heard the rap on the door only a moment before the door creaked open, and she glanced up to see the Daryl silhouetted by the candle light

"Everything ok?" he asked, suddenly dropping his gaze to the floor the second he saw that she was nursing the baby.

"Everything's fine," she said quietly. "I'm sorry he woke you."

"Uh, it's fine," he said with a shake of his head. "You run outta formula?"

"No," Carol said with a shake of her head. "He likes to nurse when he's unsettled."

"It's like a damn fridge in here." He rubbed his hands together. "No wonder he was squallin' like that."

"I didn't think it'd get so cold tonight," Carol murmured, tucking her feet under the quilt.

"C'mon," he said after a minute.

"What?"

"Come downstairs. I can build a fire, we can all sleep down there. This rate, we'll all freeze to death by mornin'."

"What about the baby?"

"Bassinet's downstairs. He ain't outgrown it yet, has he?"

"Almost," Carol chuckled. "He eats like a champ."

"Yeah, I see that," he blurted out, before his face turned red. He was thankful for the dim light, because when Carol smiled at him, his face heated even more.

"Alright," she whispered, edging up from the bed and moving across the room.

"You got 'im?" he asked, putting a hand against the small of her back as they started down the stairs.

"Yeah," she promised. "I've got him." When they were safely downstairs, Daryl headed back up, and he soon returned with Sophia, putting her in the recliner while he laid out a pillow for Carol on the couch. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

"I ain't too good for the floor."

"Daryl…"

"S'alright." He moved toward the hearth and stooped down, sparking a match and tossing it in, adding a few crumpled newspapers for good measure. Before long, the fire in the hearth was blazing and warm, and the baby had fallen back to sleep. Carol had quickly put the baby down in the bassinet and buttoned her top before snuggling onto the couch under a blanket. "Shit. Probably an inch of snow on the ground out there, and it's still comin' down."

Brody came padding into the living room, curling up on the floor next to Sophia, and Carol got up to go peek out the window with Daryl.

"Oh God," Carol murmured. "It's coming down fast. What time do you think it is?"

"Just after four. Maybe closer to five, I'd figure."

"I should go see if Merle needs another blanket," Carol offered.

"I'll check on him," Daryl said with a shake of his head. Carol settled back on the couch, watching Daryl as he headed up the stairs. She listened as the floorboards overhead creaked with each step. She listened to the rapping of knuckles against the oak bedroom door. She heard him call out. Then silence. Soon, he retreated back down the stairs and settled down on the floor, leaning his head back against the couch cushion next to where Carol rested.

"He ok?"

"Locked his door. Ain't a sound comin' from in there. Serves him right if he freezes to death."

"Daryl," she scolded softly, absently running her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, relishing the soothing touch.

"I'll check on him in the mornin'. Maybe we'll go huntin' or somethin'. He ain't used to bein' cooped up in the house anymore. Hell, he used to drive Andrea crazy always wantin' to go out and do somethin'." He rubbed his hand over his face, and the couch creaked as Carol sat up and scooted down to sit next to him on the floor. He tensed for a moment, until she wrapped one arm around his waist and snuggled against him for warmth. He grabbed the blanket off of the couch and draped it over both of them, and he pulled his arm around her waist, feeling her soft warmth under his hand. "Couch'd be more comfortable."

"I'm fine right here," she promised. Daryl turned then to look at her, to see the way the shadows from the fire danced across her soft, pale skin. The sparks that flickered from the tongued flames sparkled in her mesmerizing blue eyes. He could taste the words on this tongue, but he'd never been good with those before. He'd never been good at any of this. But she made him want to try. She made him feel these things he never expected. And when he pressed his lips to hers, it wasn't some spark, some tremor that felt like the world would open and swallow him whole. It was real and honest, and his hands shook as she opened up to him, and his heart beat wild beneath his chest.

She sighed against his mouth, her breath warm and sweet, and she trembled as his hand moved down her spine and then up again, curling into her hair. He pulled back then, and she smiled at him, brushing her thumb over his lower lip.

"You ok?" she asked thoughtfully, grazing her finger along the edge of his jaw.

"I'm alright," he said quietly. "Probably should ask you the same thing."

"I'm good," she promised. "Better than I've been in a long time, if you can believe that. My kids are safe. Healthy." She sighed, moving her hand down to curl her fingers with his. "I always thought I'd never escape him. Either I'd grow old and die with him, or he'd kill me. I never expected the end of the world or whatever this is. I never expected him to go first. I just thought I was stuck." She let out a slow, even breath. "I'm not stuck anymore. I'm free." She gently put her hand to his cheek and leaned in, kissing him softly. And then she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, and Daryl held her for the longest time, listening to the sound of her breathing. And before too long, he was sound asleep as the snow continued to blanket the earth outside.

...

Daryl startled awake at Brody's whining at the door. The fire was still going in the hearth, though it had diminished considerably. Daryl groaned, sitting up stiffly and leaning over to check on Carol who lay sleeping at his side with her face buried against a pillow. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her with her messy hair, and he gently brushed a few strands back, getting a little smile out of her as his touch roused her from her sleep.

"Mornin'," he murmured. "Dog wants out."

"M'kay," she murmured sleepily. "Five more minutes." Daryl got up then, doubling over his half of the blanket onto her to keep her warmer. He crossed the room and added another few logs to the fire, flinching as the flames snapped and sparked as they began to consume the kindling.

He stretched, rubbing his hand over his scratchy chin before he moved over to the bassinet to check on the baby.

"Mornin', Squirt," he murmured, tucking the baby's foot back into the swaddling blanket. The baby grunted in his sleep, and Daryl yawned, turning his attention over to Sophia, who was curled up under a blanket on the couch in the exact position she'd been in when he'd carried her down and placed her there the night before.

The house was quiet, and the only sound to be heard were the crackling of the flames and the creaking of the house as the wind whipped against it and shook the windowpanes. The moment he peeked out the window, it wasn't the fresh blanket of snow or the snow that continued to fall with no sign of stopping that caught his attention. It was the fresh tracks and the very obvious absence of Merle's truck that had him floored.

"What the hell?" he grumbled, as Carol stirred from her spot on the floor.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up and adjusting her sleep shirt.

"Merle's truck's gone."

"What?!"

"Damn it," he spat, rushing from the room and hurrying up the stairs two at a time only to find Merle's bedroom door wide open, bed freshly made and a crumpled piece of paper placed on the pillow.

He slammed his hand against the door frame before he crossed the room in three quick strides, picking up the paper that was folded over with his name written on the front. He felt a pull in his gut as he looked down at his brother's scribbled handwriting, and he prepared himself for the worst. This was Merle leaving.

He sat down on the edge of the small bed and unfolded the paper his brother had left for him. He felt tears sting his eyes and burn the back of his throat as he thought back to the last conversation he'd really had with him. Bracing himself, he unfolded the note and found the words scrawled across the paper.

 _Don't make the same mistake I did. Don't you lose them, baby brother._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The welcome mat on the front porch was covered in snowy boot prints after Daryl was finished stomping the big clods of ice and fluff off of his boots. His face and hands were red, because the heater in Carol's van had taken a nosedive, and he'd had to stop every few minutes to wipe the fog off the windows. He'd been driving for two hours, trying to follow the tracks from Merle's truck, but the snow was coming down so fast and heavy that it was covering the tracks up faster than Daryl could follow them. Eventually, the thought of Carol and the kids being alone started to nag at him until he had to turn around and get back.

When he finally arrived home, he found Sophia playing in the living room while Brody kept a watchful eye on her from the couch. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, and his stomach growled. He followed his senses to the back to find Carol standing at the stove stirring something that was boiling on the stove. The bassinet was pushed over by the table, and Eli was sleeping soundly inside.

When he put her keys down on the table, she turned, face pink from the steam, eyes a little watery. She wiped the sweat from her brow and gave him a hopeful smile.

"Any luck?"

"Got about twenty miles out 'fore the snow covered the tracks. He could be anywhere."

"Oh, Daryl. I'm so sorry," she murmured, putting the spoon down on the counter. She stepped over, placing her hand against his cheek. "You're freezing. Come here by the stove and warm up." She tugged at his hand, and he followed her over, letting the heat from the rising steam warm his weary, freezing hands. She squeezed his fingers, helping him get the feeling back in them, and he watched her, watched the way concern creased her brow, the way she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, the way her eyes glittered with tears when she met his gaze again.

"He's just gone." His voice was gruff, cracking from the cold and the lump he'd been swallowing back since he'd found Merle's note. "He ain't comin' back."

"You don't know that."

"I know my brother. He puts his mind to somethin', he does it. If he wants to disappear…"

"Don't think like that," Carol urged, squeezing his hands.

"He wants to die."

"Hey. Hey, look at me," Carol urged, pressing her hands to either side of his face. Daryl met her gaze, and she stared straight into him, piercing his heart with those crystal blue eyes. "Your brother survived his wife and daughter dying. He survived cutting off his own hands. He's a long stronger than he thinks he is. If he wanted to die, he'd have found a way. He's hurting. He's grieving. He'll be back."

"How come you're so sure?"

"He's stubborn. Like you. He's gotta work things out," Carol offered. Then her gaze faltered. "Maybe this is all my fault."

"What makes ya say that?"

"The other morning," she said quietly. "Merle and I…talked. Things got a little heated. He upset me, and I made the suggestion that he just leave if he didn't like it here." Daryl snorted at that.

"You think somethin' like that is gonna make my brother leave? Hell no. Like you said, he's stubborn. He didn't leave 'cause of you. He left 'cause of me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the paper he'd found on Daryl's bed. He passed it to Carol, keeping his gaze locked on her face as she read the few words scribbled there. Her brows rose, and she was breathless for a moment before looking up to meet his gaze again.

"Daryl…"

"Don't ya see? He had this. He had a family. He was a good dad. He was funny as hell, and that kid just had him wrapped around her little finger. He was an asshole, but he worshiped Andrea and Anna. They were his life, and he could find ways to make up for his mistakes when he made 'em. That was his life. For five years, it was him, Andrea and Anna, and I was Merle, you know? I was the guy on the outside lookin' in." He ran his hand over his face. "Shit, I shoulda seen it. I guess maybe I did, but I didn't think…fuck."

"Daryl?"

"He couldn't…he can't be around this right now, 'cause he knows. He knows, and it's killin' him."

"Daryl, what are you…"

"He knows I care about you," Daryl got out, watching as Carol took a step back in surprise. "He knows, and he couldn't watch it happen. Couldn't watch me make a family with you. The family like he used to have." He swallowed hard then, impressed that he hadn't passed out yet considering the fact that his head was spinning and his heart was hammering in his chest.

She had to take a moment. This wasn't a declaration of love. She knew that. She knew he was getting there, and in her heart, she knew she was, too. It was just sudden. Soon. But she also knew that in this world, a person had to keep the ones they loved close, and she knew she loved him. She knew that each time he looked at her, each time he spoke to her, each time he held her son and she could see the love he felt for such a tiny little life that he had no obligation to but loved purely because this child was a part of his life.

And she knew that soon, she could say with absolute certainty that she was in love with Daryl Dixon. It was just a little more than she could think

"Daryl, you…" She took a shaky breath. "You…are you sure?"

"I been sure," he said quietly. He searched her face, looking for a response, almost expecting her to run. This conversation was way beyond what he was comfortable with, but he'd started it, and he'd be damned if he didn't finish it. "M'sorry if this is too much."

"It's not…it's just…a lot to process." She stepped up to him again, bringing her hands up to his shoulders. "I don't want to be the reason you and your brother…I mean, he's all that's left of your family, and…"

"He ain't," Daryl said quietly. "He's family. Always will be. But so are you. The kids. But I ain't choosin'. I ain't lettin' go of you if this is…if this is what you want." He watched the tears fill her eyes again.

"It's what you want," she whispered.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I know it. I feel it." Carol's lower lip trembled, and she closed her eyes, willing the tears away before she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly, her breath warm against his skin as he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her into him.

"I feel it, too," she whispered when she broke away. "I'm...I am…feeling it. I didn't expect this. I didn't. I thought Ed was…that that was it for me. And then you came along, and I was preparing myself for you to leave. For you to be gone. And I guess this is just…" He pulled her in again, kissing her softly, slowly, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts before he pulled away.

"I ain't goin' nowhere," he promised.

"I'm glad," she smiled, warming as he looked at her in that way that made her heart pound harder and her breath quicken. She knew they had work to do, but she knew this was worth it. He was worth it. This family, _their_ family was worth it. And Merle would be back, because in this world, people had to stick together, but they had to have room to fall apart, too.

The pot on the stove began to boil over, and Carol yelped in surprise as some hot water splashed onto her blouse.

"Shit," she muttered, when the baby began to cry.

"Hey, go on. I got this. Go sit down," he offered, taking the spoon from the counter and stirring the pot. Carol watched him for a moment, watched him bring the spoon to his lips to taste the concoction Carol had put together. When he nodded his approval, she chuckled and shook her head, moving over to pick Elijah up out of the bassinet.

She sat down and laid the baby against her chest, supporting his wobbly head as he rooted against her breast. She smiled a little and lifted her top, holding him close as he latched on and began to nurse. She patted his back and rocked him back and forth, sighing softly as she relaxed against the chair. Daryl turned then, watching her for a moment before she looked up to see his face.

"I don't want you to have any regrets," Carol said softly. "Believe me, I know a few things about regret. I regretted leaving Ed for years, but you know what? I wouldn't change this for the world." She looked down at her son. "I'll hate Ed forever for what he did to me, for what he tried to do when I told him I was pregnant." She shook her head. "But Merle's your brother, and he's welcome here. He's family."

Daryl turned back to the stove for a moment, turning the heat down before he placed the spoon back down on the counter. He turned then, walking over to Carol, standing behind her chair. She shivered as he put his hand on her shoulder and bent over, turning her face toward his. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and she smiled against his mouth when his fingers brushed over her collarbone. When he pulled back, he reached down and brushed his fingers tenderly over the back of Eli's head.

"Soon as the snow clears, I'll go lookin'," Daryl promised. "But I'm always comin' back home to you."

The End

Author's Note: If you'll notice, this is part of a series. More soon in the form of a new story! Stay tuned!


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